


Two Fingers, Neat

by linguamortua



Category: The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Anal Sex, Drunk Sex, Frank Castle Is A Service Top, M/M, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Roughhousing, just guys being dudes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-02
Updated: 2018-12-02
Packaged: 2019-09-05 19:21:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16816855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/linguamortua/pseuds/linguamortua
Summary: ‘You’re on top,’ Billy said lazily, which Frank expected. If Billy wanted to do the fucking, he usually picked up a girl.A man walks into a bar. Or, Billy Russo invites Frank to the fanciest watering hole he’s ever seen, and then invites Frank into his bed.





	Two Fingers, Neat

When Frank walked into the bar, he knew he’d made a mistake. It was the shoes. Specifically, his shoes, but actually everyone’s shoes. As in, theirs were glossy and expensive and leather, and his were black sneakers. This, Frank realised, was a fancy establishment. Where usually he would be unremarkable, here he was going to stick out like a sore thumb.

Well, fuck Manhattan, and fuck Billy Russo, too.

Frank had been home less than a week, and he still felt raw and prickly. He existed in a state of high alert. The slightest smell or sound could throw him immediately back to the desert. Billy was home too, though, and apparently wanted to spend his precious leave on Frank. And aside from texting a girl he met in the park the other day, Frank had no other social obligations. So here he was, tracking down a bar with the kind of discreet, restrained signage that said “expensive”. Billy always did like luxury. It was a wonder he could afford it on their salary.

There was a consultation going on between two hosts nearby. Frank became slowly aware of their low, urgent voices, and what they might mean. One of them came over, all starch and hair gel and chilly glare.

‘Sir, this is a members-only club.’

‘It’s a bar,’ said Frank, already disoriented by being called ‘sir’.

‘You can’t just walk in off the street. I’m going to have to ask you to leave.’ The man reached out as if to touch him, and Frank’s arm shot up reflexively to bat him away.

‘Look, pal,’ he said through gritted teeth.

‘He’s with me,’ Billy said, appearing as he always did right before Frank was about to get himself in trouble.

‘A personal guest, Mr Russo?’ the host asked, significantly. Billy waved him away without answering. He looked exactly like he belonged here, in gunmetal and navy blue, silk and a nice watch. Frank took a surreptitious look at Billy’s feet. Black Oxfords, shiny like dress shoes.

‘Nice shoes,’ he said, following Billy in between discreetly-spaced booths and tables.

‘Thanks,’ said Billy, happily. ‘They’re Lanvin.’ He had a table right at the back, under a crazy light fitting that stuck out from the wall. The leather armchairs were kitty-corner. Both of them could see the room. When Frank sank into one, he groaned involuntarily. It was just like that one favourite armchair at home; soft and welcoming, with the perfect amount of lean.

Like magic, two drinks appeared on the table. Whiskey cocktails of some kind. The glass was heavy in Frank’s hand and sparkling appealingly. He took a sip and stretched his legs out, crossing them at the ankles.

‘Good drink,’ he said, and swirled it in the glass. ‘What’s in it?’

Billy opened his mouth in a silent laugh, his white teeth flashing. The light, Frank noticed, was flattering here. Billy was clean-shaven and he looked good—better than good. Frank didn’t mind being laughed at by him. ‘It’s an Old Fashioned,’ Billy told him. He sipped, eyes closed. ‘Seemed appropriate.’ That was classic Billy, the sting in the tail.

‘Cheap shot,’ Frank said, not caring at all. He looked out across the bar. Most of the tables were occupied, and all the bar stools besides. Mostly men. A few upmarket women. High maintenance types. Out-of-Frank’s-league types. Everything was leather and glass and wood. Now that Frank was tucked out the way in a corner and nobody was looking at him, he saw that it was a comfortable kind of joint. Great pains had been taken to make everything subtle and pleasant. Hosts flitted and disappeared. Frank didn’t see a single damn credit card or dollar bill, which meant that the money happened in the background. Classy. 

‘Penny for ‘em,’ Billy said. He had been watching Frank watch everyone else.

‘Brain dead,’ said Frank. Then, thinking about the ambience and Billy’s nice shoes, he sat up straighter. ‘This is a nice place.’

‘It is,’ Billy agreed.

‘Members only, huh?’

‘Members only.’

‘You a member?’

‘I am.’ Billy looked pleased to be asked. ‘Where are you staying?’

‘Friend’s place.’ Frank and Teague always seemed to miss each other by days. But Teague was a single guy, and when he wasn’t sweating his ass off in a flight suit, he had a bachelor pad out in Red Hook. If you’d made it through basic and he liked you, Teague would let you crash at his place for a couple of weeks for a few hundred bucks. 

‘Lady friend?’

‘Airborne friend,’ said Frank. He crunched an ice cube, enjoying it.

‘Nice place?’

‘Sure. One bedroom, Red Hook. Decent kitchen. Can see across the harbour.’

‘Red Hook,’ said Billy, obviously dismayed.

‘Nothing wrong with it,’ Frank said. ‘There’s a good diner down the street. Nice Thai place. It’s a quiet area. Neighbours mind their own business.’

‘After three months with sand up my ass, it wouldn’t be my first choice.’

‘Where are you staying?’

‘The Tribeca, this week,’ Billy said. ‘Then with a friend.’

‘Lady friend?’

‘Maybe,’ said Billy, mock-coy. 

‘What kind of man,’ Frank said slowly, ‘stays at a fucking hotel. On leave.’

‘Hey, I like the room service,’ Billy shrugged. ‘And I need the clean sheets, man. Change that shit _daily_ , you know what I’m saying?’ He did a thing with his eyebrows that left Frank in no doubt as to what he was saying. Somehow it was more insinuating when he did it in a sharp suit and designer shoes. Go figure. Billy hooked one ankle up onto the opposite knee, and rested his glass on his bent leg. He was wearing socks with mustard stripes, which Frank imagined was fashion.

‘Any plans?’ he asked idly, not really caring.

‘Not many. Some gala thing on Friday. Couple of dates.’

‘A couple of dates?’ Frank said, his turn to be dismayed. ‘When do you set this shit up?’

‘I’m a go-getter, Frankie. Don’t tell me you can’t find a single girl in New York City for a few days?’

Frank stared into his drink and watched it turn in lazy amber spirals. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to tell Billy about the girl. Billy could get weird about girls. Sometimes hearing about them made him mean. Sometimes he’d just outright steal a chick out from under another guy, to prove he could. He’d never done it to Frank. Still, Frank had always been wary. It didn’t mean Billy wasn’t a good guy. Frank figured he was just one of those people who got jealous. In movies, most people were jealous, so maybe it was Frank who was the weird one. In the end, he settled for vagueness. 

‘Might be up to something on Friday,’ he said. ‘Don’t know yet.’

‘Good boy,’ Billy said. ‘Keep you busy while I’m out having fun.’

‘Yeah,’ Frank said. ‘That’s definitely it.’ They lapsed into comfortable silence for a while. As soon as they finished their drinks, two more arrived like magic, and then another two. ‘I could go for a beer,’ said Frank at length, and pow, there it was. It appeared moments after Billy murmured to the waiter.

Frank didn’t know what it was, but it tasted European. Malty and strong. 

‘Good?’ asked Billy smugly, knowing damn well that it was.

‘Sure,’ said Frank, not wanting to give him the satisfaction. ‘But you’re gonna bankrupt me, drinking at this place.’ Billy waved one hand magnanimously.

‘No, I got this,’ he said. ‘I invited you. You can pick up the tab next time.’

‘You might regret that, the places I drink.’

‘At least you can _get_ a drink here.’ That was true enough. Frank had missed beer.

‘Anyway,’ Frank said, drunk enough to pry, ‘how the fuck are you a member here?’

‘Kindness of a friend,’ Billy said. ‘Not a lady friend, before you ask.’

‘Nice guy.’

‘Very. He owes me a favour.’

‘Some favour.’ This time, Billy closed his eyes when he laughed and he kept them closed. He was nursing this drink, making it last. A smart move. To Frank’s practised eye, there was an indefinable looseness to him now. Billy always did have that smooth, catlike grace to him, but it was like a second skin draped luxuriously over a steel frame. Now he was dissolving comfortably in his chair, his head tipped back. Frank let himself look at the long line of Billy’s throat, and at his hand on the glass. 

And then, the dark cast to him—the things that Billy had done, that Frank had watched him do. Frank had a good buzz coming on, and through it he imagined he could see a sheet of blood down Billy’s face. Someone else’s, as had happened so often before. Billy’s beautiful face suffused with bloodlust, but never a scratch on him. Frank touched his tongue to his lower lip. Shit, thinking about Billy fucking someone up always got him hot. And what was better was that Frank knew that Billy felt the same about him. He didn’t ever have to apologise for it.

He might’ve projected pure horniness into Billy’s fertile mind, because Billy lazily opened his eyes and looked over.

‘Want to get out of here?’ he asked. 

‘Yeah,’ said Frank, with a jolt of heat hitting him. He stood up carefully, respecting the alcohol after so long without it. Billy didn’t bother to hide the sway in his stance. It looked good on him. He shrugged on a coat, and walked straight out the door, Frank following in his wake. Fancy places, man. The bill just took care of itself.

Frank had a MetroCard in his pocket but of course Billy hailed a cab. 

‘Too cold to walk,’ said Billy, even though it was barely chilly. Too cold to walk a dozen blocks. Hilarious. Frank was pretty sure that Billy just didn’t want to scuff his shoes. He let Billy pay for the cab. Whatever. If this is how he wanted to blow his paychecks, Frank would let him. Tonight, Billy was calling the shots and Frank didn’t feel enough like a real person yet to argue the point. Obediently he trailed Billy into the Tribeca, past the reception and into the elevator. Up to a room in the corner of a long hallway. Swiping his keycard, Billy swung the door open with one long arm and ushered Frank in.

It was a large room, with a lounge area by the window. While Billy unlaced his shoes, Frank looked around. Everything was gold and brown and new. There was a suitcase under the bed, and a couple of suit covers hanging in the half-open wardrobe. A coffee maker. Billy hung up his suit jacket with care, and took a pair of phones out of the pocket. 

‘Camera phone?’ said Frank, nodding to the silver one.

‘Yeah.’

‘Nice.’ Frank had a cell, but he never used it. It was somewhere at the bottom of his kit bag, and probably had no credit on it anyway. ‘I’m just gonna—’ he said, gesturing to the bathroom.

‘Sure,’ Billy said, undoing his tie.

In the bathroom, Frank pissed, then washed his hands and face. He left the water running as he unstoppered some of the toiletries. He sniffed the shampoo; it smelled like something herbal. _Juniper_ , he read silently. He turned off the water and dried his hands. Looked at his face in the mirror, battered under the lights. Mentally, he catalogued himself. Grunt’s haircut, razor burn on his neck. Nose broken twice. The assorted scars, underlaid by what Billy had once explained to him was _sun damage_ , that probably meant he’d get face cancer or some shit. Ears like a brawler. He didn’t have to be pretty to be good at his job. But he sure wondered what Billy saw in him sometimes.

Billy banged on the door.

‘You having a stroke in there, old man?’

‘No,’ said Frank, opening the door. He ogled Billy unsubtly. ‘I’d like to, though.’

‘I pay for your drinks and I gotta do the work?’ Billy asked. Already he was working on Frank’s belt. Frank pulled his t-shirt off over his head before he realised that his boots were still on. He untied them, shoving Billy’s wandering hands away, and kicked them off. Then he started in on the tiny buttons down Billy’s shirt. As soon as he touched the fabric, he knew it was expensive. Frank didn’t bother to be careful. He hid his smile in Billy’s neck, mouthed at his jawline. ‘The shirt, Jesus,’ Billy said as Frank pulled it off his arms. A button ricocheted off somewhere. 

‘Sorry,’ Frank said insincerely into Billy’s skin. There was an undershirt, too. He defeated it on the way to the bed, with Billy’s long legs getting tangled with his as they moved. Billy got an arm around Frank’s neck and one on his jeans and flipped them both onto the mattress. They collided with a laugh. Billy tried another martial arts move, but Frank was ready for him. The booze and the soft mattress left Billy with no coordination, and Frank caught his forearms and fought back. Under his skin, Billy’s whipcord muscles flexed. Frank was getting uncomfortably hard. ‘Quit it,’ he said, and let go of Billy’s arms to take his jeans off. His boxers came with them, and his socks; he gave up and threw the whole lot on the floor.

‘Not bad,’ said Billy, running a hand over Frank’s hipbone and onto his cock. 

‘Thanks.’ Frank propped himself up on an elbow and unzipped Billy’s suit pants. ‘You even wearing anything under here? There even room?’ Frank looked, while Billy jerked him with the firm confidence that only another guy could bring to the task. ‘For real?’ he asked, his voice thick. Frank didn’t even know how you got boxer briefs that tight. They were burgundy.

‘For real,’ Billy said, with the words _you’re welcome_ left unvoiced and yet somehow extremely clear.

‘Well, fuck,’ said Frank, suddenly impatient. ‘Take your fucking clothes off.’ Billy’s breath hitched and his hand on Frank’s cock fell still for a moment. Then, as if set off by a starter’s pistol, they both fought Billy out of his pants, hands getting caught up. Billy only looked about ten percent as ridiculous as Frank getting naked, which was typical. Also typical was the way Billy rolled onto his back and swiped a punch at Frank’s shoulder, daring him to come closer.

Frank did. He sprawled between Billy’s legs and nosed at his clavicle and up under his jaw.

‘You’re on top,’ Billy said lazily, which Frank expected. If Billy wanted to do the fucking, he usually picked up a girl. 

‘Got stuff?’

‘In the drawer,’ Billy said. Frank leaned over him, and then onto him, flopping his weight onto Billy’s chest so that all Billy’s breath left him in a huff. Frank fished around until he found the bottle, then read the label.

‘Gun oil? You put this on your dick?’ Under him, Billy gave a breathless laugh.

‘It’s lube,’ he said. ‘Real lube. Read the fine print, genius.’

‘You want me to lie here naked and read the fine print? Or you want me to—’

‘Wiseass,’ said Billy. He got one foot flat on the mattress and tried to flip Frank off him. Frank grinned down at him. In motion, Billy was a pretty tough customer with good reach, but Frank was heavier. He came down onto his elbows and enjoyed how Billy felt under him. His warm skin. The press of his cock again Frank. The way he smelled, expensive and clean but with the scent of his skin, that Frank could have identified in a dark room, filling Frank’s nose. The alcohol on his breath and a few rogue strands of hair sticking to his forehead and tickling Frank’s face.

‘How’re we doing this?’ Frank asked. They liked to switch it up. Or at least, Billy liked to, and Frank liked to do whatever Billy liked, mostly. Billy’s pupils were wide and expectant, but somewhere in him Frank could see the devil. 

‘Hold me down,’ Billy suggested, and he slowly showed his teeth. It was easy enough to get one of Billy’s hands flat against the mattress (pulse hammering, palms damp). When Frank reached for the other, Billy elbowed him in the face. It wasn’t enough to damage him, but Frank shook his head like a dog with an earache. Billy twisted, catlike, so Frank knelt on his shin. Thwarted, Billy bit Frank’s forearm. Teeth always did something to Frank, and the feel of them made him jerk his hips against Billy’s thigh. 

Billy took advantage of Frank’s distraction with a jab to the side. He looked flushed and alive. It was Frank’s favourite look on him. Billy was an elemental creature of blood and fire. He was breathing hard, sizing up his next move. Any other place, Frank would play with him, but now he only had one thing on his mind. So maybe he couldn’t blend in at a fancy bar, or go to the supermarket without his head on a swivel. But this, he knew how to do.

Frank grabbed a handful of Billy’s hair and yanked his head back. Made sure he couldn’t do shit. Besides, if he struggled too hard, Frank would pull his hair out. Frank rolled him over. 

‘Hold you down, huh?’ The nasty talk wasn’t Frank’s strong suit, but it didn’t need to be. Billy let out a desperate, soft moan, like a man slowly bleeding out with no help in sight. His right elbow came back, hoping to get in a lucky shot. It was easy to grab it and pin him. Billy wasn’t even trying any more. Frank leaned for the lube and dropped it on the mattress. He tore open a rubber with his teeth. Billy tried to turn around and look. ‘Shit, hold on,’ Frank said, dropping the foil. He rolled it on, and this time Billy didn’t try anything.

‘Don’t play with me, Frankie,’ said Billy, talking fast. 

‘’M not,’ said Frank, lining up. Lining up against Billy’s perfect ass, Christ. Everything was soft around the edges right now, and Frank was very warm and very drunk. With hardly any pressure, the head of his cock disappeared into Billy. Every brain cell Frank had was focused on watching it. Billy’s face was buried in the pillow. Frank never could figure out why Billy would fight him like a wildcat to stop Frank from doing what he, Billy, desperately wanted. That was just how sex with Billy was; you had to grind his pretty face into the nearest flat surface until he tapped, and then he was easy. 

Billy’d tell you that he was a pretty easy guy all the time. A pocket full of rubbers and a phone full of numbers. It was true that he let Frank get at him whenever they were alone together. But Frank had to wonder how Billy played it with the ladies. Sometimes he thought about it. Okay; he thought about it a lot. Did Billy treat them like he had Frank treat him? Or was it the other way round? Wild porno shit; chicks in high heels stepping on his nuts. Slapping him in the face.

‘Put it in,’ Billy told him.

‘It’s in,’ Frank bitched back.

‘All of it.’

In response, Frank slid into Billy like almost nothing, and the muscles in Billy’s shoulders rolled and flexed. Billy was clenched down on him. His ass and his glutes. _Fucking Tantric magic_ , Frank thought. Last time Frank took it in the ass he had to do some kind of Lamaze breathing until Billy bottomed out. He started out slowly on Billy, fucking him smooth and even for about thirty seconds. Lasted until he realised that Billy was humping the mattress, and then all bets were off. 

Frank slid his arm underneath Billy and grabbed the sheets with the other. He buried his face in Billy’s sweaty back, already too far gone to do anything but cling on and fuck Billy like his life depended on it. All he could hear was the rough sounds of their breathing, and the slap of skin on skin. They had done this in New York and in Houston and in Quantico and in Fallujah and Mosul and anywhere else they could steal the time. Frank had lived out of a kit bag for five years; Billy was home. Frank didn’t have to be sober to know what to do.

Billy was saying something into the pillow, but it was muffled. Anyway, he had braced himself and he was pushing himself back against Frank with every thrust. Fucking like he hadn’t had it in a year. Open-mouthed, Frank shoved his face into the side of Billy’s neck. The prickle of Billy’s fresh haircut rubbed along his cheek. He smelled good, like cologne and booze and clean sweat. Like all the stuff Frank couldn’t get for ten months out of the year.

‘Fuck,’ said Frank, his muscles trembling. ‘You gonna get off?’ He couldn’t stop. ‘Billy.’ He tugged at Billy’s hair with his free hand, trying to get his attention. It brought Billy up on his hands and knees like a marionette. ‘Billy, you gonna get off?’

Billy wiped the back of his hand over his forehead. ‘Shut up,’ he said, bracing one hand on the headboard.

‘Whatever,’ said Frank, knowing he was slurring, and also knowing he was being an asshole. He held Billy’s shoulder and fucked him harder, tearing a noise out of him. His back was arched. Frank wanted to pull out and jizz on it. He wanted to pull out and roll Billy over and jizz on his _face_. In his hair. Billy would rather die than let him, but Frank wanted it. The thought of it sent him over the edge. His hips jerked into Billy and his cock went liquid, even as everything from his waist down tensed like crazy. He could feel his fingers digging into Billy’s shoulder and knew it was too hard, but he rode it out anyway. Fucked through it, until he started to go soft.

Billy had been grunting out every breath but as Frank pulled out and messed about tying off the condom, he stopped. 

‘What do you want?’ Frank asked. ‘This?’ He spat, and pushed two fingers back inside Billy. Billy groaned, fumbling his hand down onto his cock. 

‘Yeah,’ Billy breathed. ‘Nah, wait.’ He shifted his weight onto his knuckles, getting comfortable on one arm.

‘What do you want?’ Frank said again, stupidly. He was flexing his fingers up into Billy’s ass, but he could—Frank swallowed and his cock twitched—he could do more. ‘Let me blow you.’

‘Fuck, yeah,’ Billy said. He rolled over, pulled himself up against the headboard. The head of his cock was very red and very wet. It made Frank’s mouth water. There was a long, slick track of lube down in the inside of Billy’s thigh. His face was flushed. Frank’s head swam. He lay down, belly on the bed and feet hanging off the edge. Billy lifted one foot and rested it on Frank’s back, spread the other leg out.

Frank went down mouth-first, got the head of Billy’s cock on his tongue. He wrapped his hands around Billy’s thighs to his hip bones. Billy was almost there, rolling his hips into Frank’s mouth, making his little sex noises again. He was salty and earthy, and Frank could feel the blood throbbing against his tongue. Billy’s fingers found his scalp and tried to get purchase in his hair. Around Frank, the room was spinning just a little. When was the last time they’d fucked without the threat of someone walking in? Frank moaned around Billy’s cock. His own dick felt sensitive against the bedclothes but it was the good kind of sensitive. 

Frank wanted to tell Billy something, something about coming in him, but the words wouldn’t form. His mouth was busy anyway. He was making a mess, saliva down his face and down Billy’s cock. He let Billy go too deep and swallowed loudly, wetly. Nobody knew they were here. Nobody could stop him from sucking Billy off; from making a noise. 

Billy was saying his name and pulling his hair. Frank waited, waited—and when Billy came with a cry he just let it happen. Billy’s come filled his mouth, and Frank didn’t try to swallow. He let it run back out over his lower lip and kept blowing Billy. The hard nub of Billy’s heel pressed uncomfortably into his back, keeping him down low on his stomach. Frank didn’t care. He let the head of Billy’s cock rub against his tongue and his cheek and his palate, until Billy pushed his forehead, disengaged.

Then he just rested his cheek against Billy’s thigh and lay there, mouth half-open. Time stretched out. Frank’s face dried and itched. Billy was half-asleep; Frank could tell by his breathing. If he left it any longer, he was going to pass out on Billy’s junk. So he got up on unsteady legs and pissed again, and washed Billy’s come off his chin. He opened the little bottle of mouthwash, just for fun, and used it. It swirled away down the drain and he watched it go with suddenly-heavy eyes. Billy slid into the shower behind him.

‘You want me out of here?’ Frank asked, ready for the answer to be ‘no’ but dreading the hike back to Red Hook.

‘Nah,’ said Billy, turning on the water and immediately filling the bathroom with steam. ‘Cleared my schedule.’

‘No kidding? And all I had to do was take a bullet for you that one time,’ said Frank, his chest getting a stupid rising feeling, which he told himself was relief for not having to take the Q. He dried his face on a little soft hand towel which he knew he was going to steal in the morning, and flopped back into bed. He punched the pillow into the right shape and arranged himself on his belly. Five minutes later, Billy slid back into bed naked and smelling of soap. He pressed his knuckles into Frank’s neck, at the base of his skull. It felt real good. 

‘Come out to my place next time,’ said Frank, caressed into generosity. ‘Make you breakfast in the morning.’

‘Breakfast?’ Billy said, voice sleepy yet amused. ‘That’s real cute.’

‘Well,’ said Frank, ‘I guess I’m just old-fashioned.’

**Author's Note:**

> I continue to be garbage, and I thank [trillgutterbug](https://archiveofourown.org/users/trill_gutterbug/pseuds/trill_gutterbug) for not only joining me in the dumpster, but also catching the typos in this story before I hit the post button.
> 
> If you liked this, comment! Especially if you figured out Billy's dirty little secret...


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